The Zennist

The leap vs. sitting and meditation

Terms like ‘samadhi’, ‘dhyana’, ‘smriti’, ‘ekagrata’, and others all have to do with meditation.  Yet, meditation in Buddhism is not based on just sitting.  In fact, it isn’t necessary to be able to sit is zazen to have an initial glimpse into the luminous Mind.  

Looking at the term samadhi it occurs when mind is fixed for understanding itself.  This has nothing to do, in particular, with sitting.  It has everything to do with comprehending what the true nature of mind or citta is.  Again, looking at dhyana, the description of it given by Szu-hsin (1044–1115) makes no mention of sitting as being a necessary componet of awakening.

“While still alive, be therefore assiduous in practising Dhyana.  The practice consists in abandonments.  ‘The abandonment of what?’ you may ask. Abandon your four elements (bhuta), abandon your five aggregates (skandha), abandon all the workings of your relative consciousness (karmavijnana), which you have been cherishing since eternity; retire within your inner being and see into the reason of it.  As your self-reflections grow deeper and deeper, the moment will surely come upon you when the spiritual flower will suddenly burst into bloom, illuminating the entire universe.  The experience is incommunicable, though you yourselves know perfectly well what it is” (Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism [Second Series], 8).

And so it goes with smriti (mindfulness) and the rest of the aforementioned terms.  None of them are dependent on sitting.  Yet they all have to do with meditation. 

But there is one more matter to look at.  In itself, meditation, the instrument, is not the same as the goal which lies in the realm of the unconditioned; more precisely, pure, luminous Mind.  To be sure, one can be very advanced in meditation and still not reach the unconditioned.  For example, in the Pali canon (A.i.282) Anuruddha reflects:

“Strenuous and unshaken is my energy.  Mindfulness is set up in me untroubled.  My body is calmed, not perturbed.  My mind is concentrated, one-pointed.  Yet for all that, my mind is not freed from the obsessions (âsrava) without grasping.”

Surely, on the same track, sitting crosslegged in a modern Zen center won’t automatically lead to the unconditioned—but neither will just meditation in the example of Anuruddha.  At some point a leap of faith is required.  While meditation might serve, indirectly, to facilitate such a leap, i.e., satori, it is not ultimately necessary.  It is only necessary that we catch a glimpse of the luminous Mind which is made easier with the help of meditation—but not always.

Leading desire

The idea that the force of desire (P., tanha) can be lead in such a way that it leads to a skillful, or the same, a profitable outcome thus avoiding samsara is not missed by the Buddha.  

“Here, craving (tanha) is of two kinds, skillful and unskillful (or profitable or unprofitable).  While the unprofitable kind goes with samsara, the profitable kind leads to the giving up of [unprofitable] craving.  Take for example the cause of the grief that has as its cause the renunciation of [unprofitable] craving  It is described thus:  ‘When shall I enter upon and abide in that base, namely, the base which is peaceful, the one the Noble Ones enter and abide in?’  And longing arise in him, and grief with the longing as its condition:  Such craving is profitable; for there is freedom of mind (cetovimutti) due to the fading of lust (raga).  Such craving is profitable in having that for its object” (Nettipakarana 87).

As the foregoing suggests, it would be a mistake to lump all desire in Buddhism as something to be shunned—as unprofitable.  In fact, desire can't be shunned or ignored, nor can one become totally indifferent to desire.  Even Siddhartha had the desire to go to the Bodhi-tree and just before that had the desire to drink the transforming elixir, Madhupayasam, that the maiden Sujata offered him.  

The real question we have to ask ourselves is where is our desire leading us?  While it should be somewhat obvious that our former desires have led us to this present condition with all of its problems, viz., samsara, these same desires can be harnessed to accomplish nirvana.  To make this clear, the Buddha's Dharma or teachings can lead our present desire out of samsara and with it, end our suffering. 

Zen beginnings (continued from January 9, 2009)

I was excited about the prospects of going to the mountain temple with Duke.  But having to be at Duke’s house at 4 am sharp—well, that might not be so easy.  A warm, snugly bed is not an easy thing to leave behind.  My need of adventure, however, was now sufficiently aroused.  So, too, was my need to lift the veil of inscrutable Zen.  The more I read Suzuki’s Essays In Zen Buddhism the more my ignorance made up its mind to reform itself which meant—and I knew it—that I would probably have to learn Zen the hard way.  To be honest, if it were my way (i.e., the easy way), I would prefer to cross the sea of samsara in a luxury liner. 

My two alarm clocks went off.  Not too long after that, I fired up the VW at the ungodly hour of 3:30 am after I had thrown my rucksack onto the backseat.  (I tried to pack everything I thought I would need in my rucksack for the weekend adventure which wasn’t much.)  Past sleeping America, my green, sputtering VW lumbered its way in the dark like a large mechanical Armadillo.  My mind was dreaming about Zen as I clutched the gray steering wheel.

After I turned the corner, I saw Marty the truck, this time with wooden side panels on it—and there was Duke wearing a pork pie hat with a Levi jacket over an Hawaiian shirt loading up Marty.  That image of him standing there was the first blow to my preconceptions of a Zen priest.

I parked just behind Marty; got my rucksack and went over to where Duke was.  “Good morning Duke.”

“Hey kid.  Glad to se ya made it.  Marty is raring to go.  I’ve already loaded the things I usually take up to the mountain temple in the back.  I put in a few extra blankets in, just in case.  So get in the truck and let’s see that double clutching of yours!”  Duke just grinned.  

Duke’s eyes were different—not like with most people who seemed to be either staring off into space or day dreaming.  There was an unwonted brightness about his eyes.  It is like he could see through you and the world.  That is the best way I could describe the feeling I had.

Marty was a great old truck to drive.  It was exactly like my uncle’s truck.  And it went about as fast which was about forty miles an hour.  In fact, I decided to drive Marty no more than thirty-five miles an hour.  I have always had a gut feeling about cars and trucks.  They are like living creatures.  Marty was used to going slow.  That was his habit.

Duke didn’t have to say much as we drove towards Coppertown.  I already knew the way.  I had been to it several times already.  Then about two hours later, Duke told me to watch out for this side road on the right that would be coming up in a quarter mile. Yep, there it was.  I turned Marty to the right.

“Now go down this road for about an eighth of a mile,” Duke instructed.  “You’ll see a metal gate with a big chain and lots of locks on it.  That is the road that will take us to the mountain temple.”

I finally saw the gate.  I stopped Marty just in front of it; put it in neutral, then set the hand brake.  Duke jumped out and had the gate open before I could blink!  As I drove through, he stood there, holding the gate open, just grinning at me in that pork pie hat of his.  I had to smile.  

Duke re-locked the gate then jumped back into the truck.  “We have about seven more miles to drive on the dirt road.  Then we’ll be there.”

I could see that they did a lot of copper mining in this area.  It must have been during World War II when they needed so much copper.  We drove past one abandoned old copper mine that was on the right about a quarter mile away.  This whole area was mainly rolling hills with lots of oak trees and small streams.  I imagined that the mountain temple was probably Japanese looking; set somewhere in a thickly wooded area of old oak trees.  

“Right over there—that’s the road to the temple,” said Duke. 

I followed the rain rutted dirt road up a hill.  I couldn’t see the temple yet.  But my excitement grew.  My heart was pounding.  A real Zen temple.  I couldn’t wait to see it.  Then to my amazement, I didn’t see any temple once I got to the top of the hill!  I only saw a weather beaten shack of sorts with a small wooden, screened in, front porch with stone stairs.  I guess it served as a kitchen at one time for the miners because not a hundred feet from it was an abandoned copper mine.  As I drove Marty closer to the shack I could see that it was kept up.  The roof was metal.  The windows were in good shape.  There was a new shiny, chimney pipe coming out the side of the shack.  At the side of the front door, painted on a pine board in black brush strokes were some Chinese characters.  I assume they read, “Mountain Temple”. 

“Well, how do you like it kid?  One of my old students gave me the land.”

“Ah, it looks great,” I replied, trying to mask my disappointment at not seeing a real Zen temple.

“I love this area.  The collective mind of the herd doesn’t often visit here.  As you can see, it offers nothing beautiful to look at or to inspire like the ocean coast or the forest.  Just coyotes, rabbits, skunks, hawks, owls, bats, and rattlesnakes—and Buddhists inhabit this land.  Oh, that reminds me.  We need some water.  See that small stone building over there?”

“Yes, I see it.”

“That is the spring house.  There are two buckets inside.  Get us some water and watch out for the rattlesnakes.  Be aware!”

Rattlesnakes?  I was not ready for rattlesnakes.  Sure as heck I would be aware.  I would keep my eyes double peeled.  I would be the all seeing eye on the back of the dollar bill!  Courageously, I walked over to the spring house and went inside.  I carefully lifted up the round metal cover that was over the well to keep the mice out.  I cleaned the buckets out then filled them up spring water.  Lucky me—no rattlesnakes.

I walked back to the temple carrying the two buckets filled with water.  They weren’t light.  Just then Duke walked down the stone steps and took one of the buckets.  I followed him into the temple to the kitchen area.  Duke showed me where to put the bucket.  The kitchen had a gas cooking stove; one of those old ones with the oven on the side so you didn’t have to bend over.  I liked those kind of stoves.  There was an old Ward’s icebox, too, by the backdoor, but no ice was to be had.  

We finally got the temple into shipshape.  The two kerosene lanterns were filled; their wicks trimmed and their glass chimneys were spotless.  Duke had unpacking down to a science.  Nothing escaped his attention or should I say, his compassion.  Then he took a large, golden Buddha statue out of a black bag and put it on the shrine in the place of honor.  For some odd reason the golden Buddha made the place come alive.  I felt happy.

Duke proved to be a great cook.  I had no idea what I ate.  But I knew some of it was rice and it was good.  I never knew you could do so much with rice and a few vegetables.  I wasn’t good with the chopsticks but I soon learned, prompted by my hunger.  Then during the course of the meal everything became dead quiet.  I had never felt silence like this.  I could hear my ears buzzing it was so quiet.

Duke having put down his bowl said with a gentle smile, “Do you think I am in this body that is sitting in front of you?”

I didn’t know what to say.  He had asked the same question before.  I was dumbstruck.  I looked at him.  He seemed to have his locus of control inside of him.  Don’t we all?

Then before I could speak Duke said, “It is an interesting question, one that hits you right between the eyes.  So what do you think attachment really means as regards me in my body?”

I braced myself up, then said something that even amazed me which usually never happens.  I answered, “Attachment is about clinging to this body so that I think it’s really me.”

Duke laughed clapping his hands together.  “That’s what I like to hear,” he said after which he took a sip of tea then got down to brass tacks.  “What else could attachment be from the Buddha’s exalted perspective except—as you put it—clinging to this body as if it were really me?  Take my word for it, we cling to this body terrified to let it go which makes us terrified of death.  Then almost scared shitless by this terror, we often commit great evils.  We bring everything to ruin because of it.  So how do we give up this clinging?

Again, Duke put the spotlight on me with his question.  I got lucky again but I don’t know how.  I said almost in a questioning way, “We have to see something positive which isn’t involved in birth and death, right?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Duke.  “That is the answer to the sixty-four dollar question—we have to see the positive undying.  And we can really see it if we can get into the habit of looking for the positive like a gold miner looking for a vein of gold.  If you are not this committed you’ll eventually fall prey to a love of sensory objects, anger, mental laziness, depression, and heavy doubt.  All these just tie us down even more to the body.”

In what followed, I became aware of a magnetic like current that covered my body from head to toe.  It was sublime—not strong, however, but definitely there.  Despite that it was still morning, Duke had a rainbow aura around him as I had seen before in the Zendo at his temple.  It was visibly there.  Something was happening I couldn’t explain.  I had no idea how it was being caused.  I made a point to remember that I was physically affected.

Just as the current had suddenly come—the current subsided.  Then Duke got up from the table and started to pile the bowls up.  We ended up washing the bowls and chopsticks with tea water.  While I was helping with the bowls I was starting to become blissful for some reason that I couldn’t explain.  I was so relaxed I could have easily drooled!

Duke looked at me and just laughed.  “Hey kid, you look drunk.  Are you drinking that Buddha juice again?”

I just smiled like an idiot.  What could I say?  I was so relaxed.  But it was not unnoticed by me that the more I was around Duke the more I seemed to be drinking this mysterious Buddha juice as he called it. Evidently, he could influence how I felt at a psychic level.  For some inexplicable reason I imagined that when the Buddha was alive people who came up to meet him felt as I did.  I can see why Buddhism became so popular.  The Buddha was not just any teacher—one of many in ancient India—he made people blissful.  He pushed back their suffering.

Duke then went into the Zendo, as he called it, where the Buddha statue was.  What struck me most about it was the quietness and the smell of sage grass coming in on a slight breeze from the outside.  

“Sit over there on the pillow,” he said pointing to what look like a rice bag stuffed with something other than rice.

I sat on the rice bag pillow.  It was comfortable.  I finally learned how to cross my legs so my back the next day wouldn’t be killing me.  Then Duke opened the windows more.  The sound of the gentle breeze coming in through the screened windows had a very soothing effect on me.  Although I quickly inventoried the Zendo, I remained more struck by the sublime fragrance of the sage.

Still wearing his pork pie hat, Duke sat on a stuffed rice bag like a yogi.  He sat next to the shine, itself, which as I looked at it more, was nicely crafted from old timbers which he must have found around the abandoned copper mines.  He then opened a book, looked at it for a few minutes, then put it down after which he closed his eyes.  I wasn’t sure why he did this.  I just went along with the program.  Then I began to feel a gentle sort of magnetic current in my body.  It seemed to make my body blissful.  At first I tried to resist it but then it got stronger and stronger.  In some mysterious way, Duke was doing this.  This is the only thing I could think of.

After some time, Duke clapped his hands together.  I don’t know how long we sat in the Zendo.  It sure wasn’t a painful exercise or experience—not as painful as when I tried to sit crosslegged on my own.  Duke, my gut feelings told me was like a Buddha radio station always transmitting blissfulness to anyone interested.

“Well Denis that about does our early morning mind gathering session.  I hope you’re in shape for a good walk.  I’ll show you around the place.”

I smiled.  “Oh, I’m in pretty good shape.  I like your mountain temple.  It’s really peaceful up here.”

“Yeah,” said Duke, “this place vacuums out your brain.”  He laughed afterwards.  

Then, I laughed.  Duke was right.  It’s true I thought to myself.  I seemed not to have a care in the world at the moment.  I was looking forward to our walk in Duke’s huge Hoover vacuum cleaner world. 

Saving Nagarjuna's Madhyamaka

The way I sum up Nagarjuna’s Madhyamaka philosophy is with one word, it’s a Buddhist form of “Pyrrhonism” which is primarily directed, to use Hegel’s words, “against the truth as thought.”  

We are to understand that whatever is posited in front of our mind’s eye, being thus thinkable and conditioned, is dismissed by Madhyamaka as being empty of true reality, i.e., svabhâva.  However, in a strictly Buddhist context, Nagarjuna’s Pyrrhonism comes with an implicit warning often overlooked by his supporters: Madhyamaka can only be directed as a weapon against truth as thought — never against truth, itself, which is always unconditioned and non-discursive, in the example of the luminous Mind.

While the general lot of latter-day Madhyamikas might take issue with the aforementioned who view Madhyamaka as absolute negation with no positive implication, the truth of the matter is that without positive implication Nagarjuna turns Buddhism into de facto nihilism, a point not lost by Dr. Harsh Narain in his book, The Madhyamika Mind whose says of the Madhyamika:

“[He] is a negative or nihilist, blank phenomenalist or illusionist; as an iconoclast of non-being in addition, an irrationalist and illusionist; and, as a repudiator of being-cum-nonbeing and neither-being-nor-nonbeing, into the bargain, an Absolute Nihilist and a quietist” (146).

Still, in all fairness to Madhyamaka, there is evidence that Nagarjuna’s philosophy is not nihilist and, in fact, had positive implication being only used as a weapon against truth embodied in finite thought.  The evidence is to be found in his work, Dharmadhatustava.  This poem from the Dharmadhatustava best sums up the gist of positive implication to which Madhyamaka ultimately leads.

“Like a metal ornament stained with impurity
Which must be purified by fire,
When it is placed in the fire
The impurities are burned, but it is not.
It is the same concerning the mind, whose nature is
clear light
But which is stained by the impurities of desire;
The impurities are burned by the fire of wisdom,
But its nature, clear light, remains” (20–21).

Without a doubt, Nagarjuna’s Pyrrhonism is the “fire of wisdom” that burns away what is not intrinsic to the luminous or clear light Mind—and devoid of impurity soon extinguishes itself leaving only pure Mind which is absolute.

Having said that, few scholars buy the assertion that Dharmadhatustava was composed by Nagarjuna.  On this very matter, Paul Williams has this to say:

“I suspect very strongly that the Dharmadhatustava is not by the philosopher Nagarjuna, and it does not seem to cohere with the Madhyamakakarika.  It is not possible at our present state of knowledge to show this conclusively, however” (Mahayana Buddhism, 68).  

Yet, while the above might seem true because the Dharmadhatustava and Madhyamakakarika lack coherence, coherence is no issue if Madhyamakakarika is supposed to be the fire that burns away the impurities of mind to reveal the luminous Mind addressed in the Dharmadhatustava.  In this case, both are coordinate; really working together.  

The samsaric mind

We continually use the samsaric mind to understand the Buddha's teaching without knowing it.  But the Buddha's teaching is foremost about getting rid of the samsaric mind so that we might be able to get a small glimpse of the true Mind which is outside the realm of samsara.  On this matter the Perfect Awakening Sutra says:

"Using the samsaric mind, you produce samsaric views.  Consequently, you will never be able to enter the Tathagata's ocean of perfect bliss."

Indeed, how is it possible that by using the samsaric mind, which is habitually bound to discursive thinking, one might attain Bodhicitta?  It is impossible.  But then do we know what discursive thinking is which prevents us from apperceiving even a trace of the enlightened Mind (bodhicitta)?  If not, how can we enter into non-discursive meditation (dhyana) in which discursiveness has to be put aside?

By and large, discursive thinking, which is the main engine of the samsaric mind, is thinking that deals with our temporal body, its mental states, and the outside world of multiplicity.  More precisely, discursive thinking is entirely conceptually oriented existing, as it were, like a fish in a linguistic ocean.  By comparison, non-discursive thinking or jñâna, to use a simile, is more like a turtle who can live in the linguistic ocean but can also leave it and live on the Isle of Jewels (nirvana) which is above this ocean.

What discursive thinking really does is establish a fictional world—one in particular of our own making which takes us far afield from the content of the Buddha's awakening which transcends the samsaric mind. 

Jewel-like Mind

Much of early Zen during the T’ang Dynasty, the so-called Golden Age of Zen, is primarily a study of the nature of Buddha Mind.  Zennists even went so far as to deny their school was a ‘meditation’ school understanding that true zazen was seeing the Buddha Mind—not just sitting.  On this score, Zen master Shen-hui said “to see into one’s original nature is zazen.”  This original nature is, of course, the enlightened or Buddha Mind.

 

Using the metaphor of a jewel, Zen master Tsung-mi, describes the Buddha Mind this way:

 

“Just the perfect brightness of jade-like purity is the jewel substance....The black color, up to and including all the other colors, such as blue and yellow, etc., are unreal...When one truly sees the color black, the black from the outset is not black.  It is just the brightness.  The blue from the outset is not blue.  It is just the brightness, up to and including all the [other colors], such a red, white, yellow, etc., are like this.  They are just the brightness.  If, at the locus of the color characteristics, one after the other you just see the perfect brightness of jade-like sparkling purity, then you are not confused about the jewel....If you are just free of confusion about the jewel, then black is non-black; black is the bright jewel, and so on with all colors.  This is free [from the two extremes of] existence and non-existence.  The brightness and the blackness are in fusion. How could there be any further obstacle” (Broughton, Zongmi on Chan, 14–15).

 

When this jewel is placed on any color such as black, it becomes all black because the transparency of the jewel is so flawless and perfect.  With regard to our ordinary thoughts, like with the color black, we only see our ordinary thoughts—not the pure Mind including its luminous nature.  Only the Buddha and advanced Bodhisattvas can see this jewel-like Mind which cannot be seen by ordinary human eyes or even mentally envisioned.

 

 

The four reliances

From the Catuhpratisarana Sutra we learn of the Four Reliances.  I have decided to put the reliances in a way that is more understandable, which provides the reader with a clear, more spiritual reading.  

The first reliance with regard to a worthy person is rely on the teaching (dharma) not the worthy person who is teaching.  The second reliance is rely on the spirit not the letter of the teaching.  The third reliance is rely on Suttas/Sutras of final meaning (nitartha) rather than non-final meaning (neyartha).  The fourth reliance is rely on gnosis (jñâna) rather than on discursive thinking (vijñâna).

As one might notice in looking over the Four Reliances,  the intention of the reliances is to push us beyond our everyday conformation biases.  Such biases are those which rely on information that confirms our existing views while avoiding information that goes against our views.  The problem with such biases is that Buddhism’s path goes against the current of our ordinary everyday views of reality.  If we insist on holding on to our biases, we will never understand even a tiny bit of Buddhism.

Also the Four Reliances want us to jettison our basic form of knowing which relies on discursiveness which, in addition, understands little or nothing about gnosis except to deprecate it.  Only gnosis, as a form of knowledge, is capable of producing a profound perceptual change in which our relationship with our body and its senses goes through an upheaval in which, for the first time, we begin to see that the world and our body are an interdependent illusion. 

Perhaps the most important reliance is learning to rely on the teachings of the Buddha found in his discourses than rely on a worthy teacher—even the Dalai Lama.  Most beginners fall into this category who place too much importance on the words of a particular teacher, not even caring if his or her words match up with the words of the Buddha.  As a matter of fact, when we begin buying books of famous Dharma teachers, eagerly reading their interpretation of Buddhism we have ceased relying on the Buddha’s discourses (dharma).  While interpretations can be of immense value in some respects, if we have not first read a major amount of the Buddha’s own discourses, any interpretation, no matter from whom, can be misleading.

A door at the back of Mr. Okazaki's hardware store

I liken much of Buddhism being taught today to be in the category of skillful means (upaya).  To be blunt, it is the holy lie.  Still, it has to be taught this way because what the Buddha actually taught is a subtlety so subtle that you almost need the brains of an Einstein to figure it out.  In the meantime, it is important to keep everyone’s attention and interest so they can have the time to mature—then you can teach them the real stuff.

As I was thinking about this yesterday, the image of Mr. Okazaki’s hardware store popped into my brain.  When I was growing up as a teenager the most exciting store for me was Okazaki’s.  It was packed with lots of Japanese items from tea cups to Buddhist shrines.  There were Japanese tools and American tools and lots of other things guys like.  From the floor to the ceiling of Okazaki’s hardware store was all kinds of neat stuff, including even Japanese toys and candy.

For a teenager like me, Okazaki’s was my toy store.  It was also my source of incense, not to mention other things like tea and wrenches for my ‘59 VW.  One day, I can remember, going to the back of the hardware store only to find a door I had never seen before half open.  As I looked though the half open part I cold see that there was a Japanese garden in the back of the store with lots of bonsai trees—and yes, there was even a little waterfall.  Mr. Okazaki came over to me and opened the door all the way then motioned to me to go in, which I did.  It was quite a beautiful sight.  His real love, I discovered, was not selling hardware it was growing and cultivating bonsai trees.

Much of Buddhism these days is like the front part of Mr. Okazaki’s hardware store.  There is something in it to interest everyone—and keep their interest for a long time.  In other words, you can’t help being bedazzled by the whole thing just as I was when I first walked into Okazaki’s.  But then there is more to Buddhism, which really doesn’t have to do with the showy part of Buddhism.  Like with Okazaki’s, there is a door at the back that opens  up to something that has nothing to do with hardware, which is quite profound and beautiful.  And this is what Buddhism is really about. 

Pyrrhon and Nagarjuna

The Madhyamaka system of Buddhism, which was developed by Nagarjuna who lived in Southern India during the 2nd century A.D., is really, boiled down, an Indian version of Greek Scepticism or the same, Pyrrhonism, the name of which can be traced back to Pyrrhon of Elis (c. 365–275 B.C.).  About Pyrrhon’s philosophy in a nutshell, a slight digression will be of help here.  What can be directly attributed to Pyrrhon is that he said, “There is really nothing existent, but custom and convention governed by human action; for no single thing is in itself any more this than that.”  

Diogenes Laertius at IX. 73–74, sums up Scepticism for us quite well which puts the Madhyamaka philosophy of Nagarjuna in the Sceptic’s ballpark. 

The Sceptics, then, were constantly engaged in overthrowing the dogmas of all schools, but enuntiated none themselves; and though they would go so far as to bring forward and expound the dogmas of the others, they themselves laid down nothing definitely, not even the laying down of nothing [italics mine] saying, for instance, “We determine nothing,” since otherwise they would have been betrayed into determining; but we put forward, say they, all the theories for the purpose of indicating our unprecipitate attitude, precisely as we might have done if we had actually assented to them.  

Much in the same vein as the above, the Madhyamikas enshrine these words of Nagarjuna’s in the Refutation:

“If I would make any proposition whatever, then by that I would have a logical error.  
But I do not make a proposition; therefore I am not in error” (VV 29).

More evidence of the connection between the Pyrrhonists/Sceptics and Nagarjuna’s Madhyamikas is in Thomas McEvilley’s book, The Shape of Anciety Thought.

Pyrrhonists and Madhyamikas expressed a very similar stance toward life.  To begin with, neither school propagated positive doctrines; by “positive doctrines” I mean doctrines that assume that the entities they refer to have essential existence, that is, that they possess self-nature (Skt. svabhâva) or substantiality (Skt. nairâtmya).  Both Sextus and Nagarjuna regard experiences as real phenomenally—that is, they do not deny that experiences occur—but not real essentially.  As one scholar writes of Nagarjuna:  “He does not eradicate existence; he eradicates only the false sense of inherent [essentialist] existence...it is possible to realize a sense of valid nominal existence through gaining the understanding that emptiness is an elimination only of inherent existence.”  Nagarjuna’s “primary objective,” says another, “was to reject...substantialist or essentialist thought...”  And another “[A]ll aspects of everyday experience, both subjective and objective, are emptied of any ontological content, whether defined as ‘self’ (âtman), or as ‘intrinsic being’ or ‘essence’ (svabhâva).”  “What is negated,” says another, “...is self, defined as inherent existence.”  Similarly, Sextus “seeks not to destroy ordinary beliefs in material objects, but only to show that none of the Dogmatists’ accounts of them are satisfactory in their own terms [which are essentialist terms].”  The Pyrrhonists’ conclusions are “non-dogmatic because they make no positive assertion about anything’s nature or essence.”  The Skeptic can affirm “in some suitably relativized sense.”  Pyrrhonism is “Essential Scepticism,” meaning that it is skepticism only about essences.

As for the similarity of the goals of the Pyrrhonists and the Madhyamikas, McEvilley  says the following about both.

Through forsaking all opinions about the nature of reality, the Skeptic practitioner is to bring his mind into a state of suspension (epochê) wherein the various mind-states are experienced as nondifferent from one another (adiaphora [cf. Skt. laksana-sunya])....This “suspension” is said to solidify into an inner balance (arrepsia) in which the mind neither affirms nor denies, neither grasps at some impressions nor pushes others away.  This position between affirmation and negation expresses itself in a withdrawal from commitment to linguistic categories and value judgments (aphasia, “nonassertion” or “nonspeech”), which ripens finally into freedom from phenomenal influence (apetheia, “nonreactiveness,” “noninvolvement”) and imperturbability (ataraxia), in which the mind is said to experience each moment without either attachment or aversion.

As for the Madhyamika, “its purpose, as stated by Candrakirti, is to eradicate the innate tendency of conceptual thought to construct reified notions of being (bhâva) and non-being (abhâva).  Such reified concepts lead to dispositions (samskâras) which keep one involved in the tumult of opinions.  One who attains a middle position between Being and non-Being “pacifies” these dispositions and “is said to have attained enlightenment and freedom.”  As the Sutta-Nipata (which is often viewed as a text lying in the background of the Madhyamika attitude) describes the enlightened person:

“He has not formed even the slightest opinion or conceptualization about what is here seen, heard, or thought” (SN 802).

From this belief in, or desire for, an opinion-freed stance, suspended in the (logically excluded) middle between affirmation and negation, both the Skeptic and the Madhyamika dialectics arose.

If our first immediate thought after considering all the above is that something seems not right with the philosophy of Nagarjuna and that of the Pyrrhonists it is to be looked for in the Law of the Excluded Middle.  The Law of the Excluded Middle holds that a proposition must be either true or false.  In other words, there can be no middle position.  Socrates, the man, who is either mortal or immortal, is by the reckoning of the Madhyamikas and Sceptics, neither mortal nor immortal!  

What can be said about Madhyamaka and Scepticism is that they both take the middle position:  that there is such a position between Yes and No, This and That, Being and non-Being, Substance and Attribute, etc., but a position that shuts off the mind so that it is not affected by propositions or metaphysics dealing with essence.

While it can be argued that both Madhyamaka and Scepticism attempt to move mind beyond all conceptual structures, as if to leave it ‘empty’, the question arises as to whether or not this mind is actually transcendent, being fully liberated from samsara, or has it simply found a way of dealing with the troubles of the conventional world and its phenomena by being indifferent to them, as it were, living in the here and now?

The slaking

Suffering takes place when mind (citta) blindly craves phenomena; mind already being coordinate with the phenomenal body beginning at birth from previous craving.  Suffering is perpetuated because the already appropriated phenomena creates a thirst or a dryness in us that cannot be quenched by our efforts.  

It stands to reason, therefore, that the more we crave ‘things’ (i.e., phenomena) the more our thirst increases.  This has the secondary effect of blinding the mind creating intoxicating and alluring perturbations leading always to painfulness in some measure.

By contrast, when our mind is able to connect and resonate with pure Mind in some degree, it becomes apparent to us that another state of mind can exist.  In this state, the more we resonate with pure Mind the more energized with bliss our corporeal body becomes.  As a consequence, the less it craves things, being content to drink from the cool spring of absolute Mind, so to speak.  

Thirst and dryness end—and this is so because mind has found itself.  It no longer has any need to cling to its phenomena as if they were mind, itself.  Mind, also, is no longer in a state of nescience (avidya).  It has become awakened (buddha), cooled, and complete (vidya), entering nirvana.